


Diomedian Compulsion

by cyber-netes (oui_oui_mon_ami)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Gen, POV Diomedes, POV First Person, Sad Ending, Stealing, Swordfighting, if you can call one character trying to kill the other angst, romantic if you squint i guess, stab wounds, the murder bros get up to Antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oui_oui_mon_ami/pseuds/cyber-netes
Summary: '“Diomedian compulsion”: a proverbial expression […] Others say that Diomedes and Odysseus were on their way back from Troy at night after stealing the Palladium, and Odysseus, who was behind Diomedes, intended to kill him; but in the moonlight Diomedes saw the shadow of his sword, turned round, overpowered Odysseus, tied him up, and forced him to go ahead by beating his back with his sword. The expression is applied to people who do something under compulsion.' (Pausanias)Or: that time Odysseus literally tried to stab his bff in the back





	Diomedian Compulsion

**Author's Note:**

> ok some things:
> 
> \- this is kind of a test run for a project i'm planning. sorry about it being in 1st person, but pls overlook that and give me some feedback?? that would be v much appreciated
> 
> \- this actually takes place after the iliad, so after the deaths of patroclus, hector, achilles, ajax, paris, etc. hence the AngstTM that diomedes is talking about
> 
> \- i realise that helenus also told them about the fact that they needed to get philoctetes off that island but philoctetes killed paris and paris' death caused helenus to leave troy and get captured so... the chronology of myths is too complicated for my brain to handle i apologise if it's too inaccurate for you

“Helenus tells us that Troy cannot fall while the Palladium remains in the city,” Odysseus says to the gathered leaders. The sun has just fallen, and we are feasting together while forming a strategy. These past few months, war has taken a great toll on us: some of our greatest soldiers have been lost in the span of a few weeks, and while the Trojans have also taken a great beating, we appear to be no closer to getting inside their walls. I suspect that Agamemnon is as close to giving up as he has ever been.

“And why should we trust a prince of Troy?” said commander asks, raising one eyebrow as he leans forward on his chair. Agamemnon has aged five years in the last two months. Despite his protests to the contrary, Achilles’ death has badly affected him. Although I am not sure whether that is because of a secret fondness for the man or simply tactical losses. “After all, he most likely holds a grudge against us for capturing him.” The other kings murmur in agreement before Odysseus raises his hand.

“Not if he holds a grudge against his brother first,” he replies. “Apparently, after Paris’ death, he and Deiphobus both vied for Helen’s hand in marriage, but it was Deiphobus to whom she was awarded.” Menelaus clenches his fists; he had hoped along with many of us that the war would end and Helen would be his again after Paris’ death. “So, Helenus did what any heartbroken young man would do, and ran away,” Odysseus continues. “Which, fortunately, is how I found him.”

“But that still does not tell us why you think that he is speaking the truth.” asks Nestor. “For all we know, he could be setting us up, and as soon as we fall for his trap and attempt to sneak into Troy, their men descend upon us. It could well be a suicide mission.”

“Oh, ye of little faith, Nestor,” Odysseus sighs, the corner of his mouth raising in the knowing smile I recognise from whenever he believes he has the upper hand in an argument. “Do you really believe that I would be naïve enough to believe Helenus straight away? Do any of you think that I of all people would abandon sense at the mere thought that victory is not so far away?” The kings look down at the table, ashamed. Even Nestor refuses to meet Odysseus’ gaze. I continue to eat my meal, observing silently. “If my character is not proof enough for you, I have subjected our captive prince to a number of torture methods, yet he stands by our story. And given the fact that he has graced the battlefield significantly less often than his physically stronger brothers, I would assume that he is the kind of person who gives in easily.” I watch as the other kings consider Odysseus’ proposal. It is a risky plan, but Helenus could potentially provide the last chance we have of conquering Troy. And after more than nine years in this camp, most of us would like this war to end sooner rather than later. However, I know more than most that Odysseus’ moral track record is not the cleanest, and this could be part of one of his grand deceptions.

A deception for what, though? Surely Odysseus would not stoop so low as to conspire with the Trojans against the people he has fought alongside for so many years?

“Who approves of this plan?” Agamemnon asks eventually. I slowly raise my hand, as do Menelaus, Locrian Ajax, Idomeneus and Meriones, Phoenix and Philoctetes. “Those against?” Only Nestor and Menestheus raise their hands. “Personally, I think that your plan could go very wrong very quickly, Son of Laertes,” Agamemnon concludes, “but, given the approval, I must let it go ahead. I suggest that it is carried out right away, before I change my mind.”

“I think Odysseus should lead the mission himself,” I find myself saying.

The kings turn towards me all of a sudden, as if they have forgotten that I am here. “And why is that, Son of Tydeus?” Agamemnon questions.

I shrug casually, as if the answer to that question is obvious. In a way, it is. “If this plan is as risky as you think it is, General, and if Odysseus is as confident in it as he appears, surely he would be the best man for the job?” I look at Odysseus, a testing stare. Odysseus returns it, blankly. He knows that I do not trust him as much as the others do, despite how close we appear to be.

“I agree with Diomedes,” Nestor says, nodding thoughtfully. “Surely you would be honoured to receive the task of retrieving the Palladium, Odysseus? It is, after all, essential to the fall of Troy.”

Odysseus smiles lazily. “I would be honoured to undertake this mission myself, as long as the General agrees to my request of a companion.”

Agamemnon frowns, but consents. “Choose any of the men here, or any of your own to take with you.”

“In that case, I request that Diomedes accompany me.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course Odysseus would want me to come with him. “He is my closest ally among our ranks, and his strength and strategy have been proven in battle. Besides, we were rather successful on our last night raid, were we not?”

I remember the mission that we had done a few weeks ago, back when most of our best soldiers were still alive – albeit some were not participating in the fighting. I had volunteered to scout the Trojan camps as they slept outside the city walls, and taken Odysseus with me to slaughter the Thracians in their sleep and steal their king’s chariot. Despite our success, there is a sour taste in my mouth as I recall the war crimes I had committed that night. Somehow, Odysseus always manages to convince me to do numerous immoral deeds whenever I am with him.

“Diomedes, do you agree to accompany Odysseus on this mission?” Agamemnon asks.

I nod. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on him.” Everyone laughs, including Odysseus, although his smile, like mine, is forced.

We arm ourselves and head out straight away, riding a chariot across the battlefield in silence. I hold the horses’ reins while Odysseus aims his arrows into the darkness. He stands still, keeping his balance as the chariot bounces over ground worn down by thousands of feet, only moving to change the direction of his aim. His lips are pulled taut, either in concentration or discomfort. Maybe both. I keep my focus on the horses in front of us, although I know this battlefield well enough to navigate it in my sleep.

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” Odysseus says, finally.

“Can you blame me?” I reply quietly.

“No,” he answers truthfully. “But given the desperate circumstances that we have found ourselves in, we have all had to take desperate measures. And sometimes,” he sighs, “I have had to do things I am not proud of. For my sake and that of the Argives.”

I slow the chariot down and steer it into a rocky outcrop a short distance from the city walls. We will be much quieter – and therefore safer – on foot from here. As he steps down, Odysseus looks more tired than he has done in weeks, since Telamonian Ajax’s death. Guilt is an unfamiliar expression on him, and although I am somewhat pleased that Odysseus is displaying a little remorse for the things he’s done, the look unsettles me.

“We’re not all that different, you and I,” Odysseus remarks, and this unsettles me even more. Given a few more years, I know that I could very well become someone like him: crafty and deceptive, but sneaky and untrustworthy. I decide there and then that I would rather die a well-deserved death in battle than outwit my way to ending more lives than necessary.

“Let’s just get this job done,” I sigh and start to move through the tall grass towards the city, but a hand on my arm stops me.

“To ‘get this job done’, we have to work together, which requires a certain amount of trust,” Odysseus says.

I glare at him. “I have seen more of your immoral deeds than all the kings in that tent, yet even they do not trust you. Why should I?”

Odysseus sighs. “I understand. But if we get this Palladium, the war will be over within the year, and you will never have to lay eyes on me again. I will return to Ithaca, and you will return to Argos, and we will both be hailed as heroes in songs for millennia to come. All you have to do is tolerate my presence by your side for a few more hours.” He holds out his hand, eyes shining in hope. “For old time’s sake?”

I know that this may well be a trap. I know that it is fully possible that my trust will be broken before dawn arrives. I know that the safest option would be to drive my chariot away now and leave Odysseus to carry out his plan himself. Yet it would be dishonourable to abandon the task now, and the temptation of an end to the war is too strong to resist. Against my better judgement, I take Odysseus’ hand. I am the only person who can hope to match his wit, and my desire for glory will always draw me to his dangerous plans. We are a team.

We silently run to the city walls, and Odysseus leads me around the foot of the wall to the best place to sneak into the city. According to Helenus, the Palladium is located in Troy’s citadel, so we walk uphill where the wall is lower and the citadel is closer.

“I will help you up and keep guard at the wall while you obtain the Palladium,” Odysseus instructs, his voice barely audible as we crouch at the foot of the wall.

I frown. “Surely you would want to do the honours of taking it?”

Odysseus shrugs. “I merely thought that I would be better at defence considering I can shoot arrows silently and from a long distance away, while your method of fighting is… considerably louder.”

“And you won’t leave me behind?”

“You still lack faith in me, after all that we have been though,” Odysseus says, tutting. “No. I swear upon the lives of my wife and my son, assuming they are still alive. You will leave the city unharmed.”

I nod, understanding how important Odysseus’ family is to him. I put one foot on his thigh and the other on his shoulder, ignoring the comments he is making under his breath about my weight. With the boost, I can haul myself up onto the wall with my hands and forearms. Trying not to groan at the exertion, I roll over the battlements and collapse ungracefully on the walkway on the other side. There is a guard fifty paces away, holding a bow as he looks out onto the plain. I silently stand up and creep towards him, attempting to use the wall to conceal my body in shadow. But just as I increase my pace to attack, the guard turns around and spots me. I freeze as he opens his mouth to shout for backup.

Then, there is the quiet whistle and _thunk_ of an arrow finding its target, and the guard spasms, eyes wide. An arrow has lodged itself in his neck, in the vulnerable spot between his chestplate and his helmet, and I can spot its head poking out the other side. I catch him as he falls and glance over the wall, rolling my eyes and grinning at Odysseus, who waves from the ground. I roll the body over the wall, careful not to let too much blood spill, and help Odysseus up.

“This is why I suggested standing guard instead of you,” he says once we are within whispering distance of each other.

“Yes, yes, you were right, blah blah blah,” I sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I slip down the ladder and slowly make my way towards the citadel, hiding behind walls and in doorways where the moonlight cannot give me away. Every so often I catch sight of Odysseus’ silhouette on the wall, looking just like another guard.

When I reach the citadel gates, the two guards on either side are already dead, both pierced in the chest with a single arrow. I quickly pick the lock and slip inside, making my way to the temple on the western side as Helenus’ instructions had said. At the end of the temple is a wooden statue, standing at around a pace tall, illuminated in the moonlight. As I approach it, I see more details: the folds in the cloak, the shield and spear, and the helmet depicting the figure as Pallas. I quickly check the rooms around the temple for guards, but I only find slumbering priests and slave girls. I have no need to slaughter them. Muttering a quick prayer to Athena, I gently lift up the statue and secure it on my shoulder, half expecting alarm bells to start ringing and the entire Trojan army to appear at the temple doors. I hold my breath as I quietly leave the temple, then the citadel, and slip into the safety of the shadows behind a building.

Odysseus gives me an impressed nod when I return to him. He takes the Palladium as I climb the ladder up to the walkway and lower myself off the wall before giving it to me so that he can climb down. Then we walk back towards the chariot.

The journey is silent. I walk in front and Odysseus walks behind me, as the path through the long grass only fits one at a time. The Palladium, although a weight on my shoulders, makes me feel lighter than I have in years. If this is really the key to our victory as Helenus says – and I cannot quite believe that I am believing a Trojan prince’s word – then Odysseus and I have just won us the war. Yet I do not seek the glory: my happiness merely stems from the possibility that I may finally leave this wretched battlefield and return home, to safety. The thought makes me feel as if I can fly.

We have left the tall grass and are in a clearing near the rocks where we left the chariot. The night sky is cloudless and we have completed the mission quickly enough for it to still be pitch black. The moon and stars shine down on us, pinpricks of blinding light against the darkness, casting our shadows on the ground.

There is movement in the corner of my eye and I glance down. Our shadows, mine and Odysseus’, are walking one after the other, as they are supposed to be. My shadow is taller and broader, and carries the Palladium aloft on one shoulder. Odysseus’ shadow is slightly shorter, leaner, and is holding something else. My heart stops as I recognise the shape from a whole life of training and fighting. It is a sword.

Pointed at me.

I act quickly, not bothering to consider any other option than the worst. I whip around, seeing the glint of metal in the moonlight and the cold gleam of Odysseus’ eyes trained on my body, and swing the Palladium around. The heavy statue catches Odysseus in the stomach and he is thrown to the ground. I set the statue down, thankful that it is not broken, and draw my sword as Odysseus gets to his feet, recovering quickly. “You wish to kill me?” I ask, more an accusation than a question.

Odysseus’ eyes are dark and hard. I recognise the expression from the times I have fought alongside him, but never before have I been the recipient of this glare. It sends a shiver down my spine. “You have many victories to your name, _god-like_ Diomedes,” he says, spitting out the title I have often been given. “What if I want a victory of my own?”

“I was never going to claim that I undertook this mission all by myself,” I say. “This was your idea, after all. And Agamemnon and the others know how reluctantly I agreed to help you.”

“If only they had listened to Nestor,” Odysseus replies, adopting a wistful tone. “Little did I know that Helenus was lying, and the Trojans were ready to ambush us as we were leaving with the Palladium. Fortunately, I managed to escape, but I just could not save you.” He shrugs. “You will be pleased to know that you fought well, sacrificing your life for me and for the Achaeans. I pray that your soul reaches Elysium.”

I raise my sword. “You cannot defeat me in combat.”

“Pride does not become you, Son of Tydeus,” he says, shrugging. Then, he charges.

I assume my battle stance, allowing muscle memory to dictate my movements. I have watched Odysseus fight enough times to know his tactics. He raises his sword, ready to slash at my neck, and I block the attack with my own sword. He swings around, aiming at my side. I knock the sword away so that it misses me and aim a stab at Odysseus’ shoulder, which he blocks easily. He swings his sword downwards, hard, and I block it with mine, making the clearing echo with the clash of metal holding us in a stalemate, our swords crossed. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I am about to break free and attack when there is a sudden, sharp pain in my side. I gasp and stagger backwards, glancing down to see a dagger sticking out of my abdomen, just above the left hand side of my pelvis. I grit my teeth and resist yelling in pain and frustration: Odysseus has tricked me, and I have the stab wound to show for it. Even now, he is walking towards me, ready to send me to Hades with a final blow.

Then, I have an idea. Two can play at this game.

Swallowing the bile in my mouth, I summon the strength that has not left me along with my blood and knock away Odysseus’ attack, planting a foot on his chest and pushing him backwards. I continue to force him back to the edge of the clearing, managing to pull strength from thin air. Maybe Athena is looking down fondly upon me again and is guiding my blows, despite also favouring Odysseus. I see the slightest flash of panic cross Odysseus’ eyes for less than a second, and this is all I need to manoeuvre his sword out of his grip and kick his feet out from under him. He yelps as he falls onto his back, and I stand over him, holding the point of my sword inches from his face.

Odysseus is panting. His chest rises and falls quickly and his breaths are ragged and wet. “Well played,” he says.

“I learned from the best,” I deadpan. “I should kill you right here for this treachery.”

Odysseus chuckles. “You forget that I am needed for Troy’s downfall. You cannot kill me if you wish to ever leave this country.”

I scowl, knowing that he is correct. Why couldn’t Odysseus be content with a prophecy regarding the importance of his trickery? “Then I shall lead you back to the Achaeans, bound and disgraced, at swordpoint.”

Odysseus nods, swallows. His cockiness is quickly disappearing, and the coldness has left his expression, replaced by something that resembles fear. I suddenly feel sick as I realise that I have never seen him truly frightened before. I push that feeling down, telling myself that he deserves to fear the wrath of the Achaean kings. He sits, quiet and unmoving, as I tie his hands and lead him back to the chariot with my sword at his back. I set the Palladium on the floor of the chariot and tie Odysseus’ feet so that he cannot escape.

On the journey back to camp, Odysseus does not attempt to start a conversation and I am lost in thought while making sure to notice any sound or movement that could suggest Odysseus trying to escape or attack me again. I feel too many emotions at once, which, when paired with a dagger still stuck in my body, makes me feel like I am about to explode, or be sick, or pass out. I am exhausted because I haven’t slept in a whole day, and I am relieved because we have the Palladium, and I am in pain because of said stab wound, and I am hurt because Odysseus broke my trust, and I am angry because I _let_ him. Even though I knew perfectly well what he is capable of.

But most of all, I am just _tired_. Physically, mentally, emotionally tired, and later this morning I will have to go and fight in this war all over again because that is what my men expect of their king.

**Author's Note:**

> ya i can't write fight scenes. i wrote that whole fight listening to the last movement shostakovich's symphony no. 5 in d minor and it was super inspiring
> 
> pls feed my inbox kudos and comments <3 <3
> 
> my classics tumblr is cyber-netes come and say hi :^)


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